I posted a comment this morning on one of the blogs I read regularly. It wasn't anything particularly pithy or witty; in fact, it was pretty mundane. In it, I mentioned (without specifics) who I work for, sort of. It's not that it's a secret, but I really believe in the axiom of never posting what you wouldn't want your boss (or co-worker, or parents) to read. I also work for the kind of employers who tend to think that whatever you do, at work or away, you represent them. So I'm very careful about talking about work, or anything that might be related to work.
Anyway, I was less vague than usual over there, and I identified in a sort of nebulous way who I work for. When I went back to that blog later, I saw a comment addressed to me by name, expressing good wishes for my safety. Now, the job I do is considered by many to be one of those that carries a higher than usual degree of risk. While I admit the validity of that point of view, and in fact, I admire and respect my colleagues who do those very risky jobs, I am not, myself, in an especially dangerous situation, and I sometimes feel a little uncomfortable when someone shows me some special respect or consideration. It's a sort of reflected glory that belongs to those colleagues, not to me, but it would be churlish of me to point that out. So I accept, on behalf of them, the respect shown me, and the concern. If you know who I work for, you know they deserve it.